Mistaken Identity
by Lucinda
Summary: While vacationing in Brazil, someone mistakes Draco Malfoy now 22 for someone else. Post s4BtVS, futurefic for HP.


Mistaken Identity  
  
author: Lucinda  
rating; pg/pg 13  
main characters: Drusilla, Draco Malfoy  
pairings: Dru/Draco, some Dru/Spike  
disclaimer: I have no legal rights to any characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the Harry Potter books.  
distribution: Twisting the Hellmouth, TNL, Jen if she wants it, Cat if she wants it.  
notes/spoilers: set AU post season 4 for Buffy, most likely AU 4 years after Draco has graduated.   
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy relaxed into the chair, enjoying the scent of the ocean. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, looking like a ball of blood falling into fire. This was the one year anniversary of his father's death, slain along with a gathering of other Death Eaters in service of Voldemorte. That 'tragedy' had freed his mother from a decade of being held under the Imperious curse, and she was attempting to rediscover herself. Last he knew, she was somewhere in Paris. He was now the main holder of the Malfoy fortune, his wealth uncontested, and nobody standing over his shoulder keeping him back.  
  
Well, almost nobody. Apparently, because so many of the children of Death Eaters had eventually become Death Eaters themselves, it had been decided that he needed continuous surveillance and following to make sure he didn't 'topple to the dark side'. They feared that he would join Voldemorte. Half of them probably hoped that he'd try, just so they could crush him.  
  
It wasn't about to happen. That was part of the reason he'd sent in that anonymous tip to the Aurors, the one that had let them catch his father. He had no intention of being anyone's follower. He would make a far better Dark Leader than follower. He just wasn't submissive and obedient enough to be a minion of evil.  
  
So, he was free of his father, 'protected' from the Dark Lord, who seemed to be too busy pursuing a vendetta against the annoying Harry Potter. Now, while he could certainly understand wanting Harry Potter dead, why allow that to stand in the way of completing bigger, more impressive goals? Why focus on one man to the exclusion of attempting your goals?  
  
As he relaxed on the beach in pleasant Brazil, he really couldn't see how things could be better. Well... he did need to find a suitable wife to carry on the Malfoy name. So, all he needed was a lovely lady to fill his bed, occupy his nights, and bear his children. Then, everything would be wonderful.  
  
He allowed himself to drowse in the warmth, fragments of dreams flickering through his mind. Perhaps it was better that nobody knew him here.  
  
"There you are, naughty naughty, hiding like that. I wouldn't have found you at all except for all the whispering..." A soft voice, lilting and carrying the welcome accent of Britain floated on a cool breeze.  
  
Draco stirred, preparing to fling a scathing retort at whoever it was that presumed to interrupt him. The words crumbled to ashes as he saw her. Her skin was the color of porcelain and almost glowed in the moonlight. Her dark hair fell down her back in sensual waves, and her eyes... dark eyes that seemed filled with the secrets of the universe. He could almost fall into those eyes, dive in and never see the light of day again. Maybe it would be worth it. She was in a deep burgundy swimsuit with a plunging neckline and a lacy wrap tied loosely at her hip.  
  
He swallowed once, in an effort to make his leaden tongue work once again. "Sorry to upset you, luv."  
  
She smiled, Reaching out for his hand. He found himself lifted from the chair, or had he got up on his own? But he was standing by her now, and she was running one finger over the muscles of his chest, the nail leaving a thin raised line. She smelled of some faintly floral old fashioned perfume, maybe Jasmine? "It's alright, my pet. You'll just have to make it up to me."  
  
Part of Draco knew that this seductress was twisting him around her slender finger. Other parts didn't care, as long as she delivered the sensual delights that her body and gestures were offering. Another part was certain that there was something wrong with this situation, but he couldn't quite muster the interest in following that idea.  
  
She gave this mysterious little smile, and he found himself following her to a nice little cottage, so fascinated by the sway of her hips and the slightly faded mark, scar? faded tattoo? just barely peeking out from above the wrap, a stylized heraldic beast wrapped around... something, he couldn't quite tell what it was. She was beautiful, sensual, and slightly unsettling... what more could he ask for in a woman?  
  
Oh sweet merciful... He'd forgotten to add aggressively sexual to the list. No sooner had they shut the door of the cottage behind them that she'd pounced on him, her lips on his, tongue exploring his mouth as her hands... oh, those hands.  
  
She'd dragged him into the most aggressive, kinkiest sexual marathon of his life. He'd loved every minute of it, even when he was half afraid that he'd drop dead of pure exhaustion. It was almost enough to make him believe in succubi. Although why she kept calling him Spike... unless it was in reference... But he didn't think so.  
  
He'd collapsed into exhausted slumber the very instant that she had, feeling the exertion in every muscle and tendon of his body. His last flickering thought was that if he was going to die, this would definitely be the way to go.  
  
He woke up to the feeling of cold fingers sliding up his thigh. He arched, the sensation entirely unexpected. The woman was clearly insatiable! Part of him insisted that he could get to like that while another part insisted that she would definitely be the death of him. And the whole exhausting situation began again...  
  
It was a bit later, perhaps three in the afternoon, when he staggered out into the front room, searching for some sort of food. He had a sheet wrapped around him, and he felt light headed from hunger.  
  
There was a noise, and she was in the doorway, looking at him with those dark eyes. "Spike... come back to bed."  
  
"But... luv." He wished that he'd been able to figure out her name. "I'm hungry."  
  
Her face... changed, the mysterious dark eyes became a feral yellow, her brows heavier. That delightful mouth with the talented... well, now her mouth was filled with sharp fangs. He felt as if his blood had turned to ice. Vampire... she was a vampire.  
  
"Don't worry... I'm getting hungry too." She paused, as if listening to something. "What? Not my Spikey? But..."  
  
She turned towards him, her expression furious, and hissed. "Not my Spike? You must be punished! Imposter!"  
  
Draco had a few possible ideas about what she might consider 'punishment' and they didn't seem at all enjoyable. Filled with blind panic, he considered the door - locked. That would take to long. Taking a deep breath, he leapt for the large bay window, the thick curtains hopefully enough to keep the glass from slicing him to pieces. The shattering glass was the sweetest sound that he'd ever heard...  
  
He fell the the ground, the broken glass and bits of wood and metal rough, uneven below the velvet curtain, a few shards having flown and cut him. But those were all minor, and even the most bloody, a cut over his left eyebrow, was far from enough to keep him here. Wrapping the sheet more firmly around him, he lurched to his feet, fleeing back to his hotel room. He threw his things into the luggage, pausing long enough to get dressed. His wand was here, safe because of the moment of... whatever had caused him to leave it inside yesterday... if it had only been yesterday that he'd met the woman-vampire.  
  
The ministry would most likely be furious with him for leaving so suddenly, but he no longer felt safe in Brazil. SHE was here, and he remembered that furious expression. He did not want her to get a hold of him again. He doubted it would be nearly as enjoyable. He apparated away, no longer caring that he didn't have a certification. It was worth the risk.  
  
As he collapsed at Hogsmede, the distance and strain draining his strength, he had a fuzzy thought. Perhaps it would be good to try to figure out just who this Spike person is, anyhow. He pulled himself to his feet, and stumbled towards the Three Broomsticks, certain that at the very least, he would have time to eat.  
  
He also made a firm vow that if he was ever listing the traits he wanted in a woman, non-predatory would be at the top of the list.  
  
end Mistaken Identity. 


End file.
